the wednesday poem

"There is also in each of us the maverick, the darling stubborn one who won't listen, who insists, who chooses preference or the spirited guess over yardsticks or even history. I suspect this maverick is somewhat what the soul is, or at least that the soul lives close by." - Mary Oliver

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

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Washing The Elephant Isn’t it always the heart that wants to wash the elephant, begging the body to do it with soap and water, a ladder, han...
Wednesday, April 21, 2010

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Oh Wind Oh wind I see you how you sway to the left and the right. You always make me sleep. Oh wind you always make me dance. Your music is ...
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Wednesday, April 14, 2010

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For My Niece Sidney, Age Six Did you know that boiling to death was once a common punishment in England and parts of Europe? It's true. ...
Wednesday, April 7, 2010

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In Early Spring The fields were still matted, and dirty snow huddled in patches, but the swing of the earth had taken place and it tilted to...
Wednesday, March 31, 2010

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French Horn For a few days only, the plum tree outside the window shoulders perfection. No matter the plums will be small, eaten only by squ...
Wednesday, March 24, 2010

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Monsieur Pierre Est Mort My seventh grade French teacher, Mademoiselle Torrosian, kept a pet rock, Pierre, who looked like an average potato...
Wednesday, March 17, 2010

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Digging Between my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests; snug as a gun. Under my window, a clean rasping sound When the spade sinks int...
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